My Rock Band
by MostlyScrubbed
Summary: The gang gets together to play some Rock Band. Guess who drops in to interrupt the fun? Oneshot, friendship.


**A/N: Hi all! This is my first fic, please read and review. Thanks much!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs, but I wish I did.  
**

---

"Anything you waaaaaaaant... Baayyyybeeeeeeeee... You got it!" J.D. pumped a fist into the air as the song came to an end, triumphing in his imagined lovely yet powerful singing voice. "I LOVE Rock Band! Man, Roy Orbison is so badass. I wish I could sing half as good as him."

"Apparently you do only sing half as good, Bambi," Carla remarked. "You got a 53%."

J.D. whirled around towards the television screen, eyes wide. "Yes! MORE than half as good! In your face, Space Coyote!" He leaped up from the couch, flitting about the living room in what could only be described as some version of the Snoopy dance.

Turk grinned as his prancing friend before turning to his Latina wife. "At least he's havin' a good time, baby, that's all that matters!" Glancing at the screen, he did a double take. "WooHOO! 99%, that is what I'm TALKIN' 'bout!" And with that Turk jumped up from the drum stool, knocking it over in the process, and began to gyrate with his still-bouncing friend. "Who da man, who da man? Yeah yeah, come on, who da man?!"

"All that matters, hmm?" muttered Carla under her breath, turning towards Elliot with a smirk. The two shared a smile while watching the men being boys before Carla stood up and headed to the kitchen. "Anyone want a drink? I feel like a Blue Hawaiian."

"Baby that sounds great, but you're lookin' more like a Cocoa Puerto Rican I AM SO KIDDING DON'T KILL ME!" Turk's joke turned into a high-pitched plea when an array of kitchen utensils began to fly from the kitchen towards his head. He ducked a spatula, deflected a pair of tongs with the drum sticks and then was hit squarely on the forehead by the rubber end of a turkey baster. "DAMNIT, WOMAN!" Throwing the sticks to the ground, Turk stomped off towards his assailant with a look somewhere in the vicinity of frightened glee on his face.

Elliot jumped up and practically pounced on the discarded drum sticks. "Ha-ha! My turn!" In her rush to be the next drummer, she tripped over the coffee table and stumbled into Rowdy, sending him flying. From her ungraceful position on the floor, Elliot watched Rowdy land right side up in front of the drum set and "catch" the drum sticks in his open mouth.

"No, Rowdy, no! Bad boy, no fetch. Go lie down!" J.D. scooped up the hapless dog and carried him off to his bedroom, enclosing him within. He emerged wiping his hands disgustedly on his Thundercats t-shirt. "Ewww. Doggie drool. You should probably wipe tho-" Seeing Elliot already holding the drum sticks, J.D. backpedalled. "--wipe those drum sticks aaallll over your bad self and get ready to rumble!" He fielded perplexed looks from the entire gang and changed the subject to the blue drinks lining up on the kitchen counter. "Oooh! Pretty!" As the drinks were distributed, Turk and Carla returned to the living room and everyone settled in for another set.

"Why don't you sing, Carla? I love your voice," suggested Elliot. Carla looked a bit embarrassed and muttered something about not really caring about stupid games, but eventually she was passed the microphone. Turk picked up the lead guitar and J.D. grabbed the bass, and everyone began arguing about what to play next.

Carla had finally had enough of the bickering. "Alright, alright. I want to choose if I have to be the one singing it." She scrolled through the choices, frowning. "There are hardly songs sung by women on this list, hardly any songs that I even recognize, and DEFINITELY no songs that I recognize that are sung by women!"

"Wait!" called out J.D. "How about 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot?' I'm sure you'll know that one when it starts." Turk snickered quietly at his Pat Benatar Fanboy buddy while Carla considered the selection. She nodded, and J.D. squeaked happily.

---

A black Porsche slid quietly into a parking spot beneath a shade tree. Outside the sun cast dappled shadows of fluttering leaves upon the gleaming car, wispy clouds drifted through the sky on a slight breeze, and songbirds twittered gaily. Inside the Porsche, roiling storm clouds laden with sleet and lightning may as well have swirled about the head of the gruff Irishman in the driver's seat, so poor was his mood. He scowled and grumbled, slapping his steering wheel before turning off the ignition and getting out of the car. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he stalked towards the apartment building.

As he approached the apartment, Dr. Cox slowed his gait. Loud music was playing behind the door. Music he could actually stand and possibly enjoy. He slowed to a stop and raised a hand to scratch his head. Was it possible that Newbie and Gandhi could actually play? He could hear drums crashing, at least one guitar and someone female singing... Carla?! She was in on it too? She had a nice voice, he thought. Wouldn't be too bad to just stand here for a bit, have a listen, reminisce about his days playing the--

Ahh, but Jordan was waiting for him. If he didn't collect Lady Lovely Locks and his boyfriend Prince StrongHead and get them back to their place pronto, there'd be hell to pay. Dr. Cox steeled himself, grimaced, and knocked rapidly on the door.

---

J.D. stopped playing mid-chord and cocked his head towards the door. _Who could it possibly be? _He removed the guitar strap from across his shoulders and dropped it on the couch, much to the dismay of his friends. He swung the door open and saw-- Pat Benatar!

"Holy Helter Skelter!" exclaimed J.D., mouth agape in awe.

Before him stood a thin woman with wild, spiky dark hair with a glittery blue scarf tied fashionably around her neck. "Hey J.D., I heard you were having a nice little party, thought you wouldn't mind if I stopped by."

His own squealing interrupted the reverie, and none of his friends needed to ask what he was daydreaming about this time. Turk sighed and threw up his hands. "Man, I was in the middle of a perfect solo! A perfect SOLO! Do not MESS with a man who's havin' a perfect solo! Now we gotta start over."

"Just a minute, lemme see who's at the door," sighed J.D., then said under his breath, "whoever it is, it'll just be a letdown. Damn you, Pat Benatar..."

He turned the doorknob in his hand and pulled. Before him stood his mentor.

"Uh, okay... guess I was wrong," J.D. said, stunned.

Dr. Cox raised his lip like an angry dog, brushing his knuckle against the bridge of his nose, and pushed past J.D. and into the apartment. He came to a halt abruptly as soon as he saw drum kit, plastic guitars and microphone being wielded by the group of friends. He rolled his eyes heavenward and stood with hands on hips, glaring around the room. "Alrighty boys and girls, heh-heeeere's the deal. I've been sent here by The Wicked Witch of the West. Seems some of her flying monkeys went AWOL and she needs a few more specimens to help me lift her precious cauldrons from place to place while she cackles and smears Wart-B-Gone all over her nose. Now the two of you--" he said, pointing at J.D. and Turk, "have you even learned to walk upright yet? That might be a deal breaker. Also, you don't look like you didn't pass your rabies tests, and are those lice or fleas? Oh hell, I'm sure she'll take whatever primates she can get. Damn, hope Dian Fossey doesn't catch wind of this conversation of I'll be in trouble with the National Wildlife Federation for ridiculing a pair of apes." Dr. Cox struck a deep-thought pose, supposedly contemplating the thought. "Meh!" he eventually uttered with a shrug.

Met with virtually no resistance, Dr. Cox continued his rant. "Sooooo, I heard some music on my way in here. Where are you hiding the band, because you could so-HO nawwwt be it. Music like I just heard does not come from the likes of you." He glared at each of the surprised faces in turn.

Brightening with an idea, J.D. piped up. "Um, Dr. Cox! Wanna join us? It's a game where you can pretend to be in a band. It's a lot of fun, and as music isn't on any of your hate lists (currently), you might like it!" J.D. looked hopeful, the poor kid.

With a grin, Dr. Cox began to lay into the four friends. "Newbie? Are you inviting me to partake in your melodic merriment, there? I know it's been a while since you've been with a girl, so why don't you quit your heavy petting with Miss Bass there and let her get some air. Gandhi, you look like you could absolutely crush someone's trachea with those brutal guitarist's hands of yours, so delicate is the caress of your fingers. Carla, you're a lovely, lovely woman, but good God, would you put a lid on that wailing? And BARBIE!" Elliot jumped out of her seat, losing her grip on the drum sticks and sending them clattering across the drum kit and coffee table. "Are you trying to kill us ALL or just me in particular? Because you about gave me an aneurism just then, not only because of the amazing grace that you displayed there but also because you were HOLDING THE GODDAMNED STICKS UPSIDE DOWN! There is a special place in hell reserved for people who pulverize the musical experience with their complete and utter ineptitude!"

As Dr. Cox's echoing roar faded, the shocked looks surrounding him gave way to other emotions. Carla scoffed, turning away in a pout. Elliot's lower lip began to tremble slightly, and she sat down on the couch beside the nurse. J.D. stared in perplexed awe, not quite knowing what to say. But Turk narrowed his eyes, stepped in front of Dr. Cox and issued a challenge. "Yeah, that's fine if you wanna talk all big and whatnot, but if you really mean what you say, you better BRING it." Turk reached down without breaking eye contact, retrieving one drum stick from between the couch cushions and the other from someone's tropical drink. The stick dripped icy blue as he dangled it in front of Dr. Cox's eyes, swaying like a metronome.

Dr. Cox smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling with Turk's doom. "I will end you," he said simply, grasping the drum sticks. He righted the stool and sat down at the drum set and stared at the television, eyes ablaze, waiting for the rest of the crew to snap out of whatever infinite loops their brains had settled on.

_Men!_ thought Carla, glaring back and forth between her showboating friend and egotistical husband, then to her egotistical friend and showboating husband. _Ugh. Men!_

Turk's eyebrows flew up and down animatedly, his cheeks puffing in an attempt to spit out a coherent sentence. He couldn't even formulate a thought. He simply stood, mouth agape, closed, agape again, pointing back and forth between Dr. Cox and the television screen.

_Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening! _Elliot whined to herself. _I'm horrible at this game. I really hate that stupid pedally thing! And I can hardly hold onto those frickin' sticks. Blah, my hands are becoming so mannish. Must be all those latex gloves. And my arms, yikes! Am I already developing Drummer's Forearm? It was only one song! Oh my God, I'm horrible at this game._

J.D. was the one who finally broke the spell that Dr. Cox had cast over them. After some gleeful inward squealing at his mentor's apparent desire to play video games with them, he arrived at a moment of clarity. This is your chance! Time to rise to the occasion; show him what you've got!

Clearing his throat, J.D. stepped forward, placing his guitar down and gently extracting the microphone from Carla's angry, grasping hands. "I'll sing!" he squeaked nervously. The girly exclamation received no response from Dr. Cox, so intent was he on scowling at Turk and the television simultaneously. With a gulp J.D. lowered his voice to a surprisingly male sounding octave. "I mean, I'll sing, and the singer gets to choose the song." He scrolled down quickly and made his selection.

Dr. Cox grunted noncommittally. Turk smirked, snatching up the lead guitar. The ladies sat together on the couch, ready for a good show.

The song began. Turk started off the trio with a few melodic strums, and Dr. Cox soon joined in with a rolling beat. J.D. swallowed hard, gripping the microphone with a sweaty hand, and began to sing:

"Slip inside the eye of your mind,

Don't you know you might find

A better place to play

"You said that you've never been,

But all the things that you've seen

They slowly fade away..."

So the three grown men tried their very hardest to impress each other by playing with a plastic guitar, fake drum set and microphone that wasn't connected to any speaker. Each was in a world of his own, and yet strangely very much aware of the presence of the other two. It was as though they were in a time warp, marked only by the passage of little colored squares on a television screen, moving endlessly towards them. Carla and Elliot watched in silence, outsiders, at the event transpiring. Something was about to happen. Something big.

And then it was over, the last note sung and then the last note played, and the three men sat perfectly still, perhaps afraid to move. The television erupted with cheers from their adoring fans. Then three numbers flashed across the screen.

100%100%100%

Elliot and Carla were the first to react. They sprung from the couch and attacked the men with their affections, shouting and cheering. Carla grabbed Turk by the arms and jumped up and down, and eventually he unfroze and began jumping with her. Elliot threw her arms around J.D.'s neck, lavishing him with astonished praise as J.D. continued to stare at the scores in disbelief. Meanwhile Dr. Cox sat, his eyes glued to the television. The barest hint of a smile crossed his face, for the slightest moment.

"Baby did you see that?! Woo! That thing before? That is not what I'm talkin' 'bout-- THIS is what I'M TALKIN' 'BOUT!" Turk began to groove with his wife in a celebratory dance. "I'm so awesome!"

Dr. Cox stood quietly and tossed the drum sticks aside. "Alright kids, I've had enough tiddlywinks for one afternoon. Time to go move the Lich Queen's sarcophagus. Let's go, move it on out." He made it to the door before turning in place, casting another look at the drum set. His typical Coxian frown replaced the almost wistful look as he shrugged his shoulders and opened the door. "Eh. I'm so outta here."

J.D.'s gaze broke from the perfect score on the television and followed Dr. Cox as he began to leave. Something beautiful had just happened, something rare and unexpected. He had just had an unbelievable time, and he was sure that Dr. Cox had as well. J.D. moved towards the door, smiling to himself. _I'm so happy._


End file.
